Demon Fire (The Angel Fire Book 3) by Marie Johnston (top 10 novels of all time TXT) 📕

to expect when you were expecting and you’d lost your wings? “I don’t have money or insurance. Or identification.”

“Can those two get some for you?”

“Yes. They’ll probably have the identification ready soon.”

The bed jostled as he removed his shoes. “I can sleep on the floor.”

“No. Don’t.” The relief that swamped her when Harlowe had said they had to share a room was shameful. She had fallen into this world and been with him ever since. Things had seemed simpler just a day ago. Now she had demons after her and a baby to deal with. “Please don’t be uncomfortable because of me. I’ve upset your life enough.”

“That’s an understatement.” He rolled to his side and adjusted his pillow. He wasn’t getting under the covers.

She stood and drew back the sheets. Crawling beneath them, she didn’t miss how he shifted closer to his edge of the bed. Heat burned the backs of her eyes. A houseful of people who disliked her and a demon who wanted her blood.

She deserved nothing less.

There was nothing to do. Not a damn thing. He couldn’t go outside, but it wasn’t like he had a lawn to mow. The backyard had a pool that was covered. As the new “owner” he could go out and take it off, but he didn’t know shit about pools. And he had no way to look it up.

He and his “wife” were supposed to work from home but the office next to the bedroom the demon slept in had a desk and chair. That was it. He’d mentioned a computer, but they weren’t letting Sierra close to anything electronic.

Luggage had arrived the day after they had in the form of a half-full moving van. Boxes of clothing for him, Sierra, and Alma had been unloaded by the driver, a man by the name of Bronx who had acted way too familiar with the two warriors. Another “angel”? The boxes filled with laptops and tablets and phones were squirreled away in the room the warriors used when they weren’t pulling duty watching Sandeen like a hawk. If Harlowe and Urban really had wings, that would be a humorous image. Boone didn’t feel like laughing.

He was a prisoner. He’d followed Sierra and lost his freedom.

Would it be worth the price?

He’d slept next to a fitful Sierra last night. Her feelings had been hurt. The way her gaze had dropped when her friends—coworkers?—had mentioned anything to do with her fall . . . He couldn’t blame her for not telling them about the baby. If the father would be an issue for them, then they’d use it against Sierra. But if he was worse than the guy who’d blackmailed her, then . . . Boone didn’t know what that meant. She’d been scared and alone and made stupid decisions.

He’d dealt with the consequences of those before.

Urban was on the phone, his back to him. Boone had gleaned enough to figure out they were watching Sandeen to make sure he didn’t communicate with anyone else and that he still possessed Alma. If he stopped, they’d send his host on a flight back to Montana and move locations.

Sandeen opened a box that contained several puzzles. “Ooh. Puzzles. I’ve never done one.” He straightened with a wince and took an Audubon bird puzzle to the table.

“How have you never done a puzzle?” Boone followed him. There was no TV to watch while his ass was planted on the couch.

He tugged at the waistband of his brand-new jeans. They were a little large, but the angels—because fuck it, why not call them that—had guessed his size well. He’d taken Sierra’s box to their room and quietly set it inside the door. She’d finally settled into a deep sleep and he didn’t want to disturb it.

Why was he so damn considerate when it came to her?

“The underworld is not the place to do a puzzle.” Sandeen flipped the top off and dumped out five hundred pieces.

How many pieces did one bird need to be cut into? “That bad?”

Sandeen paused, his less arthritic hand poised over the mess. “It’s a level above Hell, Boone.”

“Right.”

“You say that a lot.” He started flipping pieces over.

Boone did the same. “There’s nothing else to say.”

“Some humans go batshit. Then there’s Jameson’s following. They fucking love it. I don’t know why.”

Since he’d muttered the last part, Boone asked, “Not homesick, then?”

“It’s a level above Hell, Boone.”

Boone sat back and studied Alma’s face. If she was truly possessed and the demon inside was named Sandeen, then he was serious. His voice was serious, his expression grave.

It’s a level above Hell, Boone.

Boone had been through hell. His own personal hell, one of his making. One he was responsible for. “I’ve been through hell on Earth. Worse than that?”

Sandeen sat back, the puzzle forgotten. “You wake up every day and the best thing that can happen to you is getting ignored. If you like something, another demon will destroy it. If you find happiness, another demon will destroy it. If you manage to avoid those first two, then every other demon in the underworld will still try to destroy you.”

“Every one? I thought there were different levels of strength.”

“Sylphs don’t get too close or they get eaten. Some symasters get a little big for their britches and find themselves roasting over a spit. Other archmasters? It’s a life of proving their power.”

“Then how have you survived if you’re not as fearsome as the others?” Sierra and Harlowe both agreed on what Sandeen looked like. Blue eyes, dark hair. Horns.

For fuck’s sake. Horns.

Sandeen tapped a finger against the side of his head. “A little intelligence goes a long way down there. So what’s your story?”

“I found Sierra. Now I’m here.” Demon or not, he wasn’t going to elaborate.

“You must really like her, then.”

He didn’t make sharing his business with others a habit. And since Sandeen had just said that where he came from, the mission was to prove one’s power, he wasn’t going to start today. Because information was power. “Finding out